Guilt, Regret and Everything Else
by r4ven3
Summary: In the wake of Harry's proposal after Ros' funeral, he takes an unnecessary risk, leaving Ruth to reconsider her decision to turn him down. 4 chapters, with brief appearances by other S.9 characters.
1. Chapter 1

"_Remorse is the poison of life."_

- Charlotte Brontë ~ _Jane Eyre_.

* * *

"Harry? Say something. Cough ….. anything."

Ruth realises too late that she's breached protocol. On a sensitive and dangerous operation, she's temporarily ignored protocol, and used an operative's name. She quickly looks up to see Tariq's face. The young techie looks worried.

"Alpha One," he says. "Do you read me? Give me an indication."

Both she and Tariq, and the other desk agent, Carmen, wait, looking at the small dot of white light on their monitors, still blinking, still stationary.

"Alpha One," Tariq repeats, his voice calm, "report your condition."

They wait in silence, and they hear nothing but the very faintest of hums.

Ruth can bear it no longer. She removes her headset, and steps away from her monitor. Tariq notices, and whilst his eyebrows curve down in a slight frown, he continues calling Alpha One. Until he learns otherwise, he will continue to call Harry.

Suddenly, a crackling comes over the line, and Tariq hears Dimitri's voice through his own comms.

"He's gone. Harry's not here. No-one's here."

"But we can still see his signal. It's there. In the building. It hasn't moved in ten minutes."

"Oh, shit." Beth's voice. "His clothes. His clothes are here in a pile. They've stripped him."

"Tell me what clothes you see," Tariq replies.

"Shirt, tie …... I hate that red tie …... trousers, socks, shoes, jacket. No underwear. That's good, right?"

"That's not good. I put the tracker in the lining of his trousers."

"Jesus, Tariq, why? You said you'd put it in his shorts." Beth's voice barely hides her irritation.

"He wouldn't let me. He said it wouldn't be necessary."

Ruth can't listen to them bickering. She can't think about where Harry is, and what may be happening to him. All she can think about is the final sound she'd heard from him - a long groan after what was probably a heavy punch. Harry is injured, possibly unconscious, and they don't know where he is, or even if he's alive.

Ruth thinks about Harry's decision to meet Anatoly Kazakov at a location in South London. He had agreed to meet him one on one – man to man. No back-up, and with only electronic surveillance for protection.

Ruth thinks about how low Harry has been since Ros died …... and since she had turned down his proposal of marriage. She has no illusions about her own influence on his decision to meet the Russian alone. Harry has been showing signs of depression and fatigue – a difficult combination in a man who needs to survive on his wits.

"Can you trace Kazakov's van, Tariq?" Dimitri sounds desperate. He likes and respects Harry, and was completely against the operation in the first place.

"Leave it with me."

Ruth can't listen to any more. Every word she hears screams of desperation and failure. She leaves her desk, and climbs the stairs to the roof. In her confusion she'd forgotten to bring her coat, and so the air whips around her, cutting her skin. Somehow that feels right to her …... that she should be punished by the elements. Harry had walked off the Grid with only a passing glance at her. She had watched him all the way …... until he was just a distant figure in a dark suit, disappearing down the corridor.

As time passes since Harry left the Grid at midday, she has been rethinking her decision to turn down his proposal of marriage. She now knows that it is probably only the second time he has asked someone to marry him, and his words came out all wrong. He was clumsy, and the suggestion that she marry him inappropriate on that particular day. But it was not the end of the world. She needed to have asked him what he meant by it – what were his plans – and not turn him away with so few words. In the end, she'd been as clumsy as he.

Ruth has been on the roof for over an hour, and her fingers are numb. She is just about to turn and leave when the door opens with a crash. It's Carmen, the junior desk officer.

"They've found him, Ruth. You need to come."

* * *

Ruth meets Beth in the Accident and Emergency section of Guy's Hospital in Central London. So far, no-one seems to know his condition.

"I thought you'd want to be here, Ruth. Dimitri has gone to find Harry's doctor."

"Where's Harry?"

"I'm not sure. All I know is that he's in here somewhere."

Ruth and Beth find a couple of spare seats, and sit down. Ruth feels sick in her stomach – it is the anxiety - but most of all, she feels sorry …... sorry for herself that she can't take back her words, and sorry for Harry that he'd valued his own life so little that he went out to meet a dangerous man while carrying no weapon, and with no back-up. She feels the tears building, and she tries hard to stop them falling.

"He'll be alright, Ruth," Beth says quietly, handing her a tissue. "Harry's tough. He's a survivor."

"He's not as tough as everyone thinks he is."

Dimitri is gesticulating to them from the entrance to a corridor.

"He's in intensive care. He hit his head on the pavement when he fell out of the van. Other than that, he just has the usual cuts and bruises."

"He was pushed out of the van?" Ruth has a mental image of Harry's half naked form being shoved out the back door of the van at speed.

"No," replies Dimitri. "Witnesses saw him jump out. He hit the ground rather hard. He's a bit of a lump, is Harry."

Ruth thinks of arguing with Dimitri about the `lump' description, but she stops herself. She just wants to see Harry.

"He has quite a bit of gravel rash down one thigh and one arm from when he hit the ground, but they're just superficial wounds."

"When can I see him?" Ruth asks.

Dimitri looks around at the busy waiting room, full of people either with injuries and illnesses which require attention, or people like them, waiting for news of loved ones.

"Er …. the doc says we have to wait until he's ready to wake up. Two days minimum."

"But won't he need his loved ones around him?"

Ruth notices Dimitri and Beth exchange a look. They know. They know about she and Harry. Not that there's anything to know, as such. Just two people who love one another, and who continually struggle to find a way to express that love.

"We're allowed to observe him through a window, but that's all."

* * *

For a man who is larger than life when awake, Harry looks very small lying on his hospital bed, hooked up to a number of machines, with a breathing tube down his throat.

"Can't I even sneak in and hold his hand?" Ruth says, to no-one in particular.

"Were you his wife or his fiancée, I'd say yes, but under the circumstances ….." The young doctor's voice fades, noting the desperation on Ruth's face.

Beth and Dimitri have already looked through the window at the unconscious form of their boss, and they are standing at a distance, allowing Ruth a few private moments to herself while she observes Harry. It's clear they know more than they are saying.

"Will he be alright?" Ruth asks.

"We won't know that until he wakes. We've done scans of his brain, and there's no swelling, which is a good sign. He's been put into an induced coma just to be on the safe side. He hit the tarmac quite hard, but then rolled on to his shoulder, so it could have been worse. The fact that he has no broken bones is a minor miracle. We'll begin reducing the drugs in a day or two. When he wakes up, we should have more idea, but not before then."

"Can I watch him from here whenever I want?"

The doctor smiles and nods. "Er ….. if you don't mind me asking …... what exactly is your relationship with Mr Pearce?"

"Officially, he's my employer. Unofficially …... he's ….."

The doctor nods his head again in understanding.

* * *

Ruth spends most of the following two days on the Grid, working as hard as she can. There is always a lot to do. Anatoly Kazakov was picked up by police when the number on his van was called in by a witness to Harry jumping through the back doors. He will spend time in gaol on a number of charges, including driving a vehicle without tax, and driving without due care, as well as a long list of weapons possession charges. Lucas is still negotiating with police about what should happen to Kazakov, and such negotiations may take a few weeks.

On the fourth day after Harry had been admitted to Guy's, Ruth receives a phone call from Harry's doctor.

"Mr Pearce woke up this morning, Ms Evershed, and if your name is Ruth, then he's asking for you."

"I'll be there as soon as I can."

* * *

Ruth hadn't visited the hospital since the day Harry had been brought in. In the end, she's had too much work to occupy her, and to watch Harry while he was unconscious seemed like an indulgence she could ill afford. She'd given the doctor her name and number, and instructed him to ring her the minute Harry wakes up. She hadn't expected the doctor to do as she wished, so she'd rung the hospital twice daily, asking for updates on Harry's condition. `We'll let you know if Mr Pearce's condition changes,' is the only response she receives, so when she stands at the window of his new room, a private room on the recovery ward, and sees him sitting up and talking to a nurse, Ruth can't help herself. She watches Harry unseen, while her tears flow freely.

It takes a few minutes for the nurse to notice her, and to speak to Harry, who looks up and through the window, smiling at her …... the private smile he reserves just for her. Ruth quickly wipes her eyes, and steps through the door into Harry's room.

He's reaching out to her with his hand – his good hand, as it turns out, as the other arm is in a sling, and the other side of his face is bruised and cut, and his cheek swollen from where he'd hit the pavement.

"Bloody hell, Harry. What do you think you were doing?" is all she can say.


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N: Thank you to readers and reviewers of this fic. It is one of those which I'd forgotten that I'd written.**_

* * *

Ruth regrets her outburst as soon as the words leave her mouth. Harry's smile disappears immediately, and his face becomes dark and troubled.

"I'm sorry, Ruth," he mumbles, dropping his hand.

Ruth steps close to the bed, and grasps his hand in both of hers. "No, _I'm_ sorry. I shouldn't have lashed out like that. I've been ... worried." _Upset. Annoyed. Petrified._

Harry smiles again, enjoying having Ruth holding his hand. His eyes move to the chair beside the bed, and Ruth gets the message. Still holding Harry's hand, she sinks into the chair, and pulls it closer to the bed.

"I won't ask how you are," she begins. "You look terrible."

Harry's smile widens, and he pulls her hand to his lips, and kisses her knuckles.

"What was that for?"

"For caring enough about me to be angry with me."

"Were we married, Harry, I'd be incensed." Somehow, the situation calls for a greater level of honesty between them. "I asked that your children only be informed if it looked like you wouldn't pull through. They have no need to see you like this."

They fall into a comfortable silence, which is one thing they do rather well. Ruth knows that she is angry with him because she cares for him, and Harry recognises that Ruth's anger over him risking his life demonstrates how much she cares for him. In the broader history of their relationship, that constitutes progress.

Harry can see that Ruth is thinking. Her eyebrows knit a little as she thinks. He knows better than to disturb her thoughts. Besides, he is happy enough to have her here beside him, holding his hand.

"I need you to promise me something," Ruth says at last.

Harry lifts his eyebrows in a question.

"I need you to promise me that you won't do anything like that again. I can't …... I can't stand it, Harry. I couldn't stand it were something to happen to you."

There. It's said. Sort of.

In the history of their relationship, that now stands forever as a declaration of love.

Harry turns his head to watch her. He could spend all day every day just watching her. In the past few weeks – since Ros' funeral – he has forbidden himself to indulge in the practice of watching Ruth. She'd said no rather emphatically, and so she is no longer his to watch.

He takes his hand from hers, and lifts his finger to turn her face towards him. He sees the shine of tears in her eyes. It is clear to him that she feels as deeply for him as he does for her.

"Then explain something for me, Ruth."

She looks into his eyes, and he sees her, despite the distance she has kept from him. He sees the hurt, and he sees her pain. All because of him.

"Explain, if you can, why you said no to me."

"After Ros' funeral?"

"Yes. After the funeral, you said no, and nothing has been right since. You know it hasn't."

Ruth sighs heavily, and very slowly retrieves her hand, drawing it back on to her lap. She looks down at her hands, and wonders how to reply to that question. Should she repeat what she told him that day, or should she give him an answer which is at least partly truthful?

She lifts her eyes to his, and sees fear. Harry is afraid that, despite her behaviour since she'd entered the room, she doesn't care for him …... and she does.

"I need you to explain something to me before I explain my answer to your proposal."

"Alright. What is it?"

"Why, Harry? Why did you go out to meet Kazakov? You could have sent Lucas. He knows Kazakov. He has more of a history with him than you do."

"But Kazakov wanted to meet me. He had a score to settle with me. A personal score."

"Don't tell me you had an affair with his wife." Ruth is smiling at her own suggestion. Surely Harry hasn't had affairs with as many women as people say he has. Surely the stories about Harry and women are little more than urban myth.

"Not his wife, no. His sister."

Ruth's immediate reaction is a shocked silence. When did this happen? Recently? Since they'd known one another? She has to know. If they are to ever make it together, she _must_ know.

"What? When?"

"His sister is a woman named Elena Gavrik. Her husband is Ilya Gavrik, and he's now a politician, but thirty years ago he was a spy, along with his wife."

"Thirty years ago? This happened thirty years ago?"

"Yes."

"And Anatoly?"

"He was just a small time criminal, still in his teens, but he adored his big sister ….. worshipped her. I barely knew him, but it seems he held a grudge all these years because I tried to turn Elena to spy for Britain. In the end, I was sure I had turned her, but Kazakov assures me otherwise. Our affair lasted on and off for a number of years. I asked her to meet me at a park in Berlin, and I'd bring her to London, but I failed to turn up to get her. I was still married to Jane. How would I have handled a wife _and_ a mistress …. a Russian one, at that? There was a child involved, too. She had a son whom she said was mine. He could have been mine, I suppose, but …... I already had two children whom I rarely saw. I couldn't bring another child to Britain, only to ignore him also."

Harry stops speaking, noticing the shock on Ruth's face.

"I'm sorry. That's a lot for you to be taking in."

"Yes. It is." Quite unconsciously, Ruth's hands are wringing - twisting and turning around one another - in her lap.

"You asked why I had to meet Kazakov myself, and on my own, and that's why. He's been wanting to meet me for years, and I kept evading him, hoping he'd move beyond the need for revenge. After Ros died, and then with what happened after her funeral, I thought …... why not?"

"Harry, don't tell me you were prepared to die. That's not fair."

"I didn't want to die, Ruth, which is why I jumped from his van. Let's say I was dicing with death …... but I've done that before."

They remain in silence for some time. Ruth examines her hands in her lap, while Harry watches her, feeling tired enough to be sleeping, but not wanting to leave their conversation on this note.

Suddenly, Ruth stands, and steps away from the bed.

"I …. I have to think about this, Harry. It shines a different light on everything."

Harry reaches out his hand, and after looking at it for a few moments, Ruth steps closer, and takes his hand in one of hers. He smiles at her, hoping to convey some of his deep feeling for her through the smile.

"Don't think about it too much, Ruth. It all happened such a long time ago."

"Harry," Ruth says quietly, rubbing her thumb across the backs of his fingers, "you cheated on your wife with the same woman for years. That has implications for us."

"No, Ruth, it doesn't. The man I was then was young and …... had too much testosterone, and …..."

"You can't blame your behaviour on hormones, Harry. That's a cop out."

"I know. I'm sorry. We all lived so dangerously. The man I was then no longer exists."

There was little being said, and so much being left unsaid, but they both seemed to understand.

"How can I know that?"

"Because since you came back from Cyprus – twenty months ago – I haven't been anywhere near another woman. I haven't wanted to. I've been waiting …..." And Harry leaves the sentence unfinished. He is tired – exhausted - and he needs to sleep. He is glad Ruth came to see him, but he hopes that telling her the truth has not destroyed any chance they have of being together. Despite everything, he has still not given up on her. He simply can't.

Ruth smiles slightly at his revelation. "Me too," she says. "Since …... since George, I haven't been near another man, but that's mainly out of guilt."

"Guilt? Why?"

"Because had it not been for my …... association with …..."

"With me."

"Yes, with you. Had it not been for that …... for our trip to Baghdad, George may still be alive."

"Ruth …... can you perhaps not …... punish yourself, and punish us? It serves no purpose."

"I'll see, Harry."

"Is guilt the reason you said no?"

"It's one of them, yes."

"That's not a valid reason, Ruth."

"I know."

They look at one another for a long moment. Their hands are still linked, and they each rub the fingers of the other with their thumbs. That is enough for now.

"I'm tired," Harry says at last. "I need to sleep."

"I'll be back to see you, Harry. Maybe tomorrow. It will depend …..."

"I know."

And Ruth quickly lets go of Harry's hand, and without looking back, she leaves his hospital room.


	3. Chapter 3

Ruth spends a long day on the Grid, and then again the day after. Everyone asks after Harry (as if she's his wife or partner), and she replies that he is coming along well. She knows no more than that.

When she is home at night – alone, since Beth spends much of her time sleeping over at the home of her current man – Ruth thinks about what Harry had told her. She has slept on the information, and she has even hacked into the FSB website in search of information about Elena Gavrik and her family. She is not surprised to discover that Elena Gavrik is and was a beautiful woman. Harry's women have all been beautiful …... until her, of course, but she's never been his woman, not really.

She has spent far too much of her time staring at the photo of the young Elena Gavrik, and contemplating that this woman knew Harry in a way she hasn't, and may never, despite her desire, and his very clear desire that they do. It's is just that Ruth feels so guilty – about George, George's family in Cyprus, and especially about Nico. She regrets so much, but more than anything, she regrets having drawn George and Nico into her very complicated life.

However, it is the photograph of Sasha Gavrik that interests her the most. She stares at his photograph – his very blue eyes and his thin nose, not fleshy like Harry's nose. Ruth is certain he is not Harry's son. It is when she finds an image of Ilya Gavrik as a young man that she knows for sure that this young man is his father's son. He is the image of Ilya Gavrik at the age of thirty.

It is past midnight when she goes to bed, but she is now ready to again see Harry.

* * *

Harry has been feeling low. His body is slowly healing, but his mind is troubled. He knows that telling Ruth about his affair with Elena Gavrik was the right thing to do. If they are ever to have a future together, it was the right thing to do, the honest and honourable thing to do. It has been two days since Ruth's visit, and he's heard nothing more from her. Dimitri and Beth have each visited, as has Lucas, but the person he wants …... _needs_ to see most has been conspicuous by her silence.

So it is with barely concealed joy that Harry greets Ruth, as just before dinnertime she knocks on his hospital room door. He knows he's grinning like a fool, but her presence is the best medicine available to him.

She sits in the chair next to his bed, and hands him a folder. His injured arm is no longer restricted by a sling, so he opens the folder and looks inside. There is a series of photographs – of Elena Gavrik, Ilya Gavrik, and their son, Sasha. He looks through the photographs without speaking. At first he's not sure what is being said here. Is Ruth judging him? Is she reminding him of a responsibility from which he'd walked away? Is she saying that because of these people, a life with him is out of the question?

It is when he reaches the last photograph – a side-by-side comparison photo, with a young Ilya Gavrik on one side, and a present-day Sasha Gavrik on the other – that it becomes clear what the comparison is saying.

"Are you saying what I think you're saying, Ruth?"

"Yes. Elena Gavrik fooled you into believing her son was yours, probably so that you would feel responsible for she and the child enough to bring them to England. The plan failed, and not only was she incensed, but so was her brother. You have nothing about which to feel guilty, Harry. Sasha Gavrik cannot possibly be your son."

Harry closes the folder, and hands it back to her. "Thank you, Ruth." He looks into her eyes, hoping to convey his thanks. "And what about you? Will you ever forgive yourself for George's death?"

Ruth sighs, and passes the folder from one hand to the other, fiddling with the photos inside. Harry reaches across, and takes the folder from her, and places it on the bed. He then grasps one of her hands in his, and pulls it closer to him, resting both their hands on the bed beside him.

"You can't live in the past, Ruth. The past is gone, the present is now, and …... well, I think we both deserve a new start …... a chance to be happy on our own terms. You and I ... we're still here, and the best way to honour those who have gone is to live our lives as best we can."

When Ruth doesn't reply, he looks at her, to see that she is looking down, and her eyes are filling with tears. Harry is no longer tethered to machines, so he lets go of her hand, throws back the thin hospital blanket covering his legs, and turns his body so that he sits on the edge of the bed. He slides off the bed until he is standing in front of her. He experiences a moment of dizziness due to his sudden movement, so he steadies himself by leaning against the edge of his bed. Noticing his movement, Ruth looks up at him. Without thinking too far ahead, Harry reaches out his hand, and thankfully, she takes it. He draws her hand closer, effectively pulling her out of her chair, so that she is standing close to him. Considering it a risk worth taking, Harry draws her closer still, until he can slide both his arms around her, and so pull her against him.

He considers that the best thing to have happened that day is that he is holding Ruth close to him, and that she hasn't pulled away. In fact, he feels her body relax, as she rests her head in the curve between his neck and his shoulder, and slips her own arms around his waist. He smiles when she pulls her hands back after touching bare skin where his hospital gown doesn't quite meet at the back.

"I'm sorry," she says, looking up at him through her eyelashes. "I'm not trying to touch you inappropriately."

"I wouldn't complain if you were," he replies with a grin. "It's been a long time since anyone at all touched me inappropriately. I've missed it."

Ruth's eyes show how startled she is by his boldness, so much so that he regrets being overly familiar with her. It is only in his head where he and Ruth are this close. He will have to wait for her to be comfortable with touching his body, and he touching hers.

"Do you want me to put you back in the chair?" he asks.

"No. I'm not some timid virgin, Harry. I can take this."

"I'm glad to hear it, but I'd rather you enjoyed this ….. rather than _taking_ it."

"I am enjoying this …... being here like this …... with you. You're not nearly so intimidating when you're dressed in a hospital gown …... especially one which doesn't meet at the back." She looks up at him and smiles, and he thinks he can handle just about any bad news he may be about to hear when she smiles at him in that way.

"You know," Ruth continues, "I've just realised something. I find guilt comes to me more easily than happiness. It seems to be my default setting."

"Then that's something we have to work on, Ruth. Together. If that's what you want."

Ruth nods. "I need to tell you, Harry, that while I still felt so much guilt around George's death, and my own involvement in the secret service, I was unable to accept your proposal. I was unable to embrace any kind of happiness."

"I think I know that now, Ruth. And now?"

"I'm trying really hard. I know that whether we're happy or not is nothing to do with deserving it or not. Most people would envy what we already have."

Harry holds her even closer, and then pulls away from her a little, on the off chance that his body may be well enough, strong enough, to respond (perhaps inappropriately) to Ruth's proximity. The last thing he needs right now is for her to be scared off by his clear need of her. There will be time for that soon, but first he has to get well enough to go home.

Ruth surprises him by reaching up to place a soft kiss on his lips. He really wants to lose himself in the kiss, to sink against her and let their bodies determine where this goes, and how quickly. They each slowly pull away from the other, so that once again they each stand at a safe distance from the other.

Harry leans back against the bed, one hand still holding Ruth's fingers. "Are we okay, Ruth?"

"Depends on what you mean by okay."

"What I mean, Ruth, is …... can we ….. go on from here?"

"I guess so. Provided you don't ask me to marry you again."

Harry grasps her fingers even tighter, and lifts both eyebrows in a question.

"It's too much pressure, Harry. Marriage is not something we need to put ourselves through."

"I thought it might be nice."

"In our heads, maybe, but you've been married. How easy was it?"

"Not easy at all."

"So, why would we want to do it?"

"Is that one of the reasons you said no?"

Ruth looks over his shoulder towards the window. "Not at the time, no. I've been thinking since about why I said no, and it's complicated." She again focuses on his face. "Like us. We first need to see if we can last the distance. We don't even know if we're compatible in …..."

"In bed?"

"Yes."

"I'm all for testing that one out, Ruth."

She smiles widely at him, and squeezes his fingers in her own. "When you're better."

"Yes. When I'm recovered."

They stay like that, he resting against the side of the bed, and she standing a little distance from him, their fingers linked, each watching the other. They are comfortable with that.

"I'm told I can go home the day after tomorrow."

"Good. That's good. And work?"

"I can start part time next week. Just a few hours a day."

"It will be so good to have you back at work, Harry."

"I can't wait to be back."


	4. Chapter 4

_**A/N: Final chapter. Thank you to all who have read and reviewed.**_

* * *

Eleven days later:

Harry wearily drags himself upstairs to his bedroom, where he shuffles off his clothing, draping it over the armchair beneath the window. He knows he should hang his suit, but he'll do that after his shower. He walks into the en suite, and turns on the shower, standing under it while the warm water soothes his tired muscles. He has spent his first five days on the Grid – working five hours each day – and he is due to have the weekend off to recover, because next week he'll be spending seven hours a day at work. He loves the work, but his body needs a rest. And he longs to see Ruth. He needs her near him as much has he needs food to eat, or air to breathe.

They'd only seen one another in passing, and at the end of each of his five-hour shifts he'd gone home to rest. After dinner each night, they'd talked on the phone, but they'd not spent any time alone together since the day before he went back to work. Then, Ruth had come around on the Sunday night, and they'd eaten a simple dinner of steak and salad, and then watched a movie on TV, before she took a taxi home so that he could have an early night. Now – five days later – he longs to see her. He may be tired, but he needs to see her, and to be alone with her, and he is in need of more than just a few kisses from her. Two days earlier, he'd given her a spare key to his house, suggesting that she visit some evening, but she hadn't yet used it.

He has rinsed the shampoo from his hair, and is running his hands over his body, seeking sore spots – and there are still several, mostly down his left side, from where he hit the road - when he feels a response in his body which he hasn't felt in more than two weeks. It is welcome, of course, but he'd rather Ruth was with him, and they could make the most of the stirring between his legs. He spends a moment considering the wisdom of taking some extra shower gel in his hands, and washing himself down there, and seeing what happens. He knows what will happen. The problem as he sees it is that it will happen all too fast, and then he'll be left feeling empty. Thinking of being with Ruth, imagining she is the one giving stimulation to him, is not the same as having her with him, her body close to his, her hands on him …... loving him, bringing him to climax.

He decides against self-stimulation, preferring to wait until Ruth is with him, and so he is in the process of turning off the water, when he hears her voice from the doorway.

"Sorry," she says, standing in the open doorway, her eyes looking him up and down while he turns from the taps, naked, and with rivulets of water running down his skin. "Sorry, I'll go downstairs and -"

"Ruth," he interrupts, as she turns, "I didn't hear you."

Ruth stands in the doorway, her back turned to Harry. "I was knocking on the bathroom door, as I could hear the water running. I thought that if I -"

"Ruth... please turn around."

Ruth turns slowly, her eyes on the floor, and then she lifts them straight to his eyes. To Harry, she looks embarrassed, and he doesn't wish to embarrass her.

"Look at me. Look at my body." Ruth's eyes gradually leave his, and slowly travel down his body to his feet, and back again, hovering a little longer on his genital area than any other. "This is me. If you choose to be with me, this is who I am, this is my body. I'm far from perfect, but -"

"I think …... I think you're really lovely," she says quietly. "For a man your age, you're …... rather nice." He notices her eyes again travel to his genitals. "You're better than nice. I'm ….."

"You're what, Ruth?"

"I'm impressed, Harry. You're rather …..." And then he notices that her cheeks are flushed, and she is clearly having difficulty in knowing where she should look. _That's enough of my naked body for now_, he decides, and grabs a towel from the towel rail, and quickly ties it around his waist. He then steps close to Ruth, and with his hands on her shoulders, he bends to her and kisses her. It is a chaste kiss, and he keeps his body away from hers …... just in case. They have plenty of time for that later.

All he can think as she leaves the bathroom to go downstairs is that he is eternally relieved that he chose to not masturbate while in the shower. Had he, she would have walked in on him, and the shared discomfort may have thrown them back into the embarrassment and misunderstandings of their early years, before Ruth had gone into exile.

* * *

They share a ready made pasta dish for dinner. All Ruth has to do is heat it up, and open a bottle of wine. She can see that Harry is weary, and should probably have an early night.

"Is it alright if I stay the night with you?" she asks, once they've finished eating.

"I'd love that, Ruth."

"It's just that I brought with me a few changes of clothes. I thought – if you're happy with it – that I could stay for the weekend. If you think that's too much, then -"

"It won't be too much. I've been thinking about having you stay here with me for …..."

"For how long, Harry?"

"For years. It feels like for my whole life that I've been waiting for you to turn up at my door."

"Just not your bathroom door."

"Having you at my bathroom door was very nice. I have no complaints."

"And can I share your bed?"

"I didn't give you my house key so that you can sleep in the spare room."

Her smile is wide as she looks at him across the top of her wine glass. This is them – stumbling along, often awkward, easily misdirected, but with just enough regard and respect for themselves to draw them back together every time.

* * *

Harry is already in bed while Ruth showers, and then dresses in pyjama bottoms and a t-shirt. She'd considered wearing a camisole, but wants to be sure about what Harry has in mind before she shows up in his bedroom in a semi-transparent garment.

"Should I take this side of the bed?" she asks, standing beside the bed, clearly nervous about getting under the covers.

"You can take whatever side you like, Ruth." Harry is lying on his side, his head propped on his hand, his elbow on his pillow.

He watches her closely as she removes her bathrobe, and slides into bed beside him. She is not dressed in a provocative manner, and he likes that. She could have worn a nightgown, or a see-through something-or-other, and had she, he'd have had a lot of difficulty in holding back his natural responses to her. He realises that he has little resistance where Ruth is concerned. She watches him watching her, as she turns over in bed to face him.

Matching his posture, she lifts herself on an elbow, and leans towards him to kiss him on the lips. Despite his exhaustion, Harry feels his body responding to her kiss. Her lips are soft and pliable, and he can imagine her other lips, just as soft, just as …... _oh, no you dont, Harry_. He pulls out of the kiss, and lies back on his pillow, taking one of her hands in his.

"As much as I want to continue this, and see where it goes, I …... I shouldn't, Ruth. I need to sleep first."

"I know that. I can see how heavy your eyelids are. It's just that when we were in the bathroom earlier, I detected …..."

"Movement?"

"A little, yes."

"If we postpone this until the morning, then the source of that movement will be refreshed and much more willing to ….."

"Rise to the occasion?"

Harry kisses her hand, and then places it on the mattress between them. "I can guarantee there will be a healthy degree of elevation, one which will ensure that …..."

"Conjugation takes place."

Harry chuckles quietly, recognising that Ruth is no longer embarrassed by the subject matter.

"Just so long as we -"

"Don't have to spend all weekend speaking in euphemisms."

"Oh, I can assure you that for much of this weekend, Ruth, you will not be speaking at all. I can -"

"Guarantee that?"

"Absolutely."

"Then, why are we talking about this? Goodnight, Harry."

"Goodnight, sweetheart."

_Fin_


End file.
